


With You By My Side (I Shall Ride Every Storm)

by callmedok



Category: Brütal Legend, Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Good Omens Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drinking & Talking, Gen, Humor, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-22 06:50:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19662043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmedok/pseuds/callmedok
Summary: Fire Baron is staring right at the basket containing Armageddon, and he doesn't like it, not one bit.It'll be a long night.Or; 'Hey, these are two of the only British characters in the game, what if they were Good Omens nerds lmao'





	With You By My Side (I Shall Ride Every Storm)

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written in November of 2018, when I had just listened to the audio book a few days before after having not read it in ages. I get it, universe, I am niche AU man.
> 
> Title comes from Let Us Prey/Call For The Priest by Judas Priest.

In the Beginning, there was a snake, and there was an angel.

It wasn’t too long after the Apple Incident as it would soon be referred to, with which the snake had had a hand in, and the angel had… well, done something in a fit of emotion that he’d already have to have Words with a higher-up about. In the distance storm clouds were gathering, thick and dark as the first real storm the world would ever have.

“What y’think thisss isss gonna be like?” the snake asked, curled tight around the branch the angel was lazily sitting on. Both were taking advantage of built-in cover, unwilling to find out how rain would affect them. “Get fucked an’ ssstart over, or they’ll live?” There wasn’t much room for feeling guilt, being a demon and all, but there’s something…. _unknown_ leaving them ill at ease for some reason.

The angel lets out a lazy huff in reply, shading his eyes with a hand as he looks into the dense trees outside of the Garden, as if searching for something. “I might’ve…gotten around that, between you an’ me. Mind you, it was out of charity. She’s expectin’, an’ all that.” He replies rather bluntly, almost uncaring in tone, but the tension goes out his shoulders when he finally spots a flicker of fire in the far-off distance. “Wouldn’t be right if they died now, considerin’ how bloody long it took to make ‘em.”

There’s a pause in which there’s the rumble of thunder, before a low raspy sounds suddenly makes itself heard. Snakes aren’t meant to laugh, but being more of a snake-shaped entity, the demon had some leeway. “You-you fuckin’ did it, didn’t you? Gave up your sssword for them?” It asks almost gleefully, even as there’s a touch of disbelief. A flaming sword wasn’t anything to sniff at, and the idea of surrendering it to some humans of all people… It just rubbed their scales the wrong way.

“…S’not like I was using it much,” the angel mumbles, looking rather annoyed as he eyeballs the demon, and there’s another raspy laugh. “Look, what else was I gonna do with it, smite you? Already failed that, didn’t I.” His wings ruffle up in anger, the brown feathers getting into further disarray. “Y’wanna stay outta the rain, or not?” He asks testily, and the demon’s laughter falls quiet at the unspoken threat.

The following silence is only interrupted by the rumble of thunder, and the sound of rain hitting the dark rich dirt for the first time in all of humanity.

*

Many millennia, a few months, and a good amount of shared drinks later, we arrive at a graveyard, in which a tall figure looms.

They’ve always been good at looming, but their lurking skills had always been on the rougher side, due to their inherent flashy nature. The faint glint of sequins and glitter only support this, somehow catching the light on a close to moonless light. Sure, events of momentous nature tended to occur on dark and stormy nights, but tonight the laws of narrative were not in effect and this figure was taking advantage of things. They drum their fingers on the top of a nearby tombstone in annoyance as they check their watch, nails a bright purple in the moments where they catch the light.

In the distance there’s the sound of a roaring engine, and not much later a beast of a motorcycle rumbles to a stop in front of the graveyard as its headlight cuts out. It’s red, but not the bright cheerful red of roses and stop signs and cherries. It’s the dark red of spilled blood, and fresh meat.

The man who dismounted from it strolls over with the clink of metal and the glint of studs, nearly clad head to toe in leather. He doesn’t even concede to the weather, the vest sleeveless and open, no shirt at all to be seen. There’s a snap of fingers as he makes his way through the other gravestones, and the cigarette dangling from his lips is lit, the bright burning end of it reflecting off his sunglasses.

“Hail and well met, brethren,” the looming figure says once there’s little distance between them, voice a low cultured purr that drips like oil from a broken barrel into a stream, and the leather-clad man freezes for a moment, before continuing his approach.

“…Hail and whatever, yeah, yeah. Fuck y’want, Lionwhyte?” He replies in a grumble, unable to keep the disgust out of his voice. He’s never been close with the other demon, even if they were made of the same angelic stock before the Fall. The fact Doviculus even _authorized_ the blond to come top-side makes his blood boil, and leave him uneasy at what new task will be forced upon him.

Now, Succoria, she’d been a real gem. Just took one look at him, and said ‘Get up there, and spread some chaos.’ Knew where his real talents lie, even if nowadays he was a rather…passive participant. Humans did all the nasty things to each other, and he took credit because humans were more creative and cruel than he could ever be.

…Even if some of the commendations got under his skin, with how disturbing they could get.

Lionwhyte sniffs dismissively, and his long blond hair puffs up a bit at the perceived disinterest. “Late as always, Baron. Can’t even arrive when everything’s finally lining up.” Baron grunts in a non-reply, taking a drag of his cigarette as he looks at a spot over Lionwhyte’s left shoulder, and Lionwhyte sighs dramatically. Acting long suffering as always, he reaches behind the tombstone for something.

It’s a wicker basket, something wrapped up in dark cloth wriggling within it, and the cigarette falls from Baron’s mouth.

“I…Isss it- isss it really? _Now_?” He hisses, slipping back into old habits without a thought. Lionwhyte laughs at him, the flashy bastard, and asks mockingly “What’s wrong, Baron? Thought you’d be ecstatic this rock was finally meeting its end.” The basket ends up thrust into Baron’s arms, and he’s left staring at it almost helplessly.

The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Doviculus (or Succoria, but she’s been absent for centuries without explanation), and Lord of Darkness lets out a loud wordless cry at being handled so roughly, and Baron nearly drops the basket, fumbling a bit with it. Lionwhyte just looks on smugly at his panic, and says casually “You know what will happen if you fuck this up, Baron. They’ll tell you what to do next, you know how they are.”

And with the sound of rustling wings Lionwhyte disappears, leaving Baron and the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Hell, and Lord of Darkness all alone in the graveyard, the cries slowly petering out as the basket stays steady in Baron’s grip.

He eyes the basket warily like one would look at a ticking bomb, and looks at his motorcycle waiting outside the gate. With a heavy sigh, some inner part of him cringing, he snaps his fingers and a sidecar miraculously appears attached to it. “Alright then,” he mutters, hefting the basket best he can as he begins to weave his way through the grave stones, “Let’s get you outta here, yeah?”

The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Hell, and Lord of Darkness lets out a happy gurgle, and reaches up with an incredibly tiny hand to grasp inefficiently at the bottom of his glove. Baron lets out a non-noise at the almost touch, and the graveyard gate opens up with a sound that feels like a death knell.

Even after having knowledge plunked into his head by Down Below, stuck at a stop light he still looks at the basket, and wistfully at the woods around them. Trying to decide if he could just climb off his bike, swing the basket around and let it fly into the woods… He meets the eyes though, still that clear blue of a newborn babe, and something stops him from doing it.

(And no matter what anyone says, it isn’t an inner voice that sounds _suspiciously_ like that of the angel he has an Arrangement with.)

*

There is a hospital, and within it are two expecting couples. Washington is a decent state, with good care and good doctors, but tonight was… slow, in the medical business, and this was the heart of the 80s. A simple snap and the security camera were unexpectedly tied up, another and Baron appeared rather easily as a doctor coming onto shift. To the human eye, the basket is a briefcase and any cry is the squeak of his shoes.

Simple.

Or at least, it would’ve been, if someone hadn’t fucked it all to hell in the end.

So, we have two expecting couples. One with the father, Thaddeus, in the cafeteria, hands shaking as he downs yet another cup of coffee, and unaware of Baron’s entrance to the hospital. The other, Viola, is by herself with her husband Lucio hard at work on the night shift of some job that matters nothing to you readers, but on the phone nonetheless with her because he feels it is the Proper Thing to be done.

Of the couples, Thaddeus and Emilia have Goth and Satanists leanings, if not roots buried deep in the territory. Hell, anybody who was anybody in the metal scene at the time had ties with such things, and they were no exception. Viola and Lucio however, were about as picture perfect as you could get. High school sweethearts, aspirations for a white picket fence, and plans for a dog nonetheless in order to teach their future child responsibility once they were old enough.

And so, let us label these future children A and B, respectfully.

Baron approaches one of his contacts in the doctors with the basket holding the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Hell, and Lord of Darkness, and exchanges a rough outline of the plans to ensue.

The harried doctor nods, takes the basket, and sets it aside in an overlooked closet on the way to the delivery rooms.

Baby A is born, with the faint golden hairs of a newborn and blue eyes, at exactly the same time as Baby B. Both of them could be considered identical at this point, being wrinkly and with red-pink skin, faint golden hair, and clear blue eyes. The harried doctor is so concerned with trying to carry out both, he calls on his fellow Satanist doctor to assist in his duties.

And here’s where things go wrong, down to the grandest of all things: _human nature._

Outside of the delivery room, Baby A is accidentally switched with Baby B by the second doctor, assuming that the unmarked bed (Viola hadn’t settled on a name yet) was meant to be their future Lord and Master, Devourer of Souls. And then Baby B is switched with the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Hell, and Lord of Darkness, as the first doctor assumes that the second doctor hasn’t yet made the switch, preoccupied with the health of Viola Halford.

Only, when the second doctor gets back, he squints and goes ‘Wait a sec, that doesn’t look right,’ and assumes that the original doctor has made a mistake of all things! The original bed of Baby A says that there should be a girl here, named Ophelia. And, well, when he’d had a chance to glance at the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Hell, and Lord of Darkness, they hadn’t been.

For a glimmer of a moment, the second doctor feels something close to pity, and assumes that for once, Hell had to have made a mistake.

So, dutifully, the second doctor switches Baby A back to its original crib, and is forced to determine which of the two babies left is actually the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Hell, and Lord of Darkness.

Hell will handle the child’s education, so what does it really matter if they end up in a non-Satanic household anyway? The doctor shrugs to himself at the thought, and switches Baby B with the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Hell, and Lord of Darkness.

After all, hadn’t that been the one he left in the crib on the right the original Lord and Master anyways?

Baby A ends up raised very happily as Ophelia Paige, with two loving parents that encourage her interest in guitar and metal from a young age, seeing no reason to try and limit her areas of interest. Baby B is raised as Lars Halford, with parents who adore him and encourage his belief in Doing The Right Thing. As for what happens to the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Hell, and Lord of Darkness…

Well.

Wouldn’t you, Heaven, and Hell like to know?

*

Immediately after leaving the Antichrist at the hospital, Baron makes his way from Renton to Wallingford. Sure, if it were the middle of the day it’d take him a good hour, hour and a half to make the distance, even if he _nudged_ things a bit and cut through traffic. Seeing as how it’s near 3:30 AM in the morning…

He makes it there in 30 minutes, and completely ignores the ‘Closed’ sign on the lower half of the garage. With a snap the side door unlocks, and he slips in through the crack like a snake, quiet as a ghost. He has his own place down in Seattle, a nice little apartment he’s kept his fangs dug into since they first arrived in this corner of the world, but he just-

He can’t-

He _won’t_ be alone, now of all times. Not when the Doomsday clock has finally started ticking, and feasibly there’s nothing they can do to stop it. If he coops himself up in his apartment now, he might just sleep through the End so he doesn’t have to deal with it.

And, well. It’s against the rules of their Arrangement to let something this fucking huge go unnoticed, unremarked. So really, he’s just keeping his end of the bargain, common courtesy and all. Not because he _wants_ to see the other entity or anything, mind you. The first to suggest such a thing, he’ll gladly damn himself.

By the time he makes his way upstairs, the other entity has already turned the kitchenette light on, and there’s nothing on the small table besides two glasses, and a decently sized bottle of whiskey. The angel looks to be at least halfway through his first glass, with the contemplative way he’s running a finger around the rim of it. “Y’know, I gave you a bloody key so y’wouldn’t miracle my fuckin’ doors. They always stick, after y’do that.” The angel comments, straight faced as ever and words bland as eating paper.

And this, this is where they became a study in contrasts. Whereas the Baron was easy to anger, first to leap to insults and loud screams of curse words, the angel always was more reserved at first glance, merely used insults and curse words as flavoring for his speech. He had long since matured from the easily bothered angel guarding the Eastern gate of the garden, and in some ways Baron almost missed those days. Oh, they still fought and verbally sparred, even had a few scraps here and there, but it just wasn’t the same.

But these thoughts take merely a second nowadays to ponder over, before being swiftly tucked away into the dark corner of his brain that also thought maybe humanity was actually rather decent, sometimes. Instead, he says “I just handled the fucking Antichrist, Kill Master, gimme some blessed slack for once.” He pours his own drink with the absolute surety that the whiskey he’ll be drinking will be chilled, burn smoothly down his throat, and his first sip is exactly what he expected. Sometimes, being an angel who had not fallen so much as drifted downwards and to the left a bit, had its perks.

Kill Master is unusually quiet as Baron downs the rest of his glass, as he moves on to a second refill. When he’s about halfway through that one, the angel finally speaks. Quiet and soft, a rather flat “What.” Rather the way a normal person reacts when faced with the idea of the inevitable, really.

“Y’heard me, less your head is filled with feather or somethin’. Fuckin’ Antichrist swear on-on my bike,” Baron replies, needing a moment to find something worth swearing on that wasn’t either Infernal or Divine, or faintly blasphemous. Courtesy, again, was key. “Lil bugger was riding shotgun an’ everythin’, ‘til I handed him off.”

“Did he have hooves?” Kill Master asks suddenly, as he swipes up his drink and take a nice long sip. Baron blinks at him slowly, trying to figure out what the he- _Somewhere_ the angel’s on about, before replying “The fuck you on about?”

In the moment, asking bluntly about this kind of thing was almost reassuring. Things almost felt normal.

“Hooves. Y’know, click clack, noisy as he-Someplace, an’ so on. Call it…” Kill Master gestures vaguely with his free hand, looking as if he’d rather have it occupied with a pen, or a cigarette as he was rather fond of sometimes. “Call it morbid curiosity. This is still a fuckin problem, but. It’s the small things, ain’t it?”

Baron makes another non-noise in reply, a strangled “Ngghjk,” as he downs the rest of his glass again enjoying its sweet burn, and says rather frustrated “Dunno. Didn’t think to look, y’know, with fucking Hell breathing down my neck an’ all.”

Kill Master makes a noise of acknowledgement, swirling his drink idly, and replies “No need t’get your pants in a bunch, y’big baby. Just… woulda been easier, y’know? Look for custom shit for hooves, an’ there y’go. Got ourselves the Antichrist.” Baron pauses for a moment thinking that over, and Kill Master takes advantage of it to top off his own glass. By the time Baron pulls his train of thought back on track, Kill Master is close to finishing it off.

“…Fuck, I wish. But things can’t be easy, can they?” Baron muses a bit glumly, before grabbing the bottle to refill his glass again. By now, the bottle should have been about halfway empty. Instead it appeared, at first glance, that they had barely begun to make a dent in it.

“Get your grubby paws offa that thing, y’want me to deal with people later I’ll need it.” Kill Master grumbles in return, and it’s strangely easy to slip back into their old bickering with that as a jumping off point.

Even with the Apocalypse hanging over their heads, it feels almost… nice, to have this still.


End file.
